Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Hmm... I have a few things to say. Waxing nostalgiac... whatever. Even the Cooter gets a little introspective from time to time, or tome to tome. Besides, the utter disgust and disappointment I felt while writing the last post needs to be counteracted in some way. It makes me sick to look at it day to day... So here's a little lovin':
***
Iris Avalon. Could there be a more beautiful name? For a more beautiful child not yet born? There are certainly no two people I know who more richly deserve the privilege of bringing another person into this world. I'm going to be an aunt again, and at a time right around November 16th, I will turn into a blubbering fool... oh wait... turn into?
***
My friend, I sense what you're going through and wish it could be me. In lieu of that, I then joke and laugh... I don't really get it, do I? Or... do i? Either way, I can tell you how much I love You. **That'd be a lot, y'know** (Just remember to pick up some juice when we clean out my damn freezer, 'kay?)
***
Something a little more personal: You seek out the empty spaces and disperse your heat. I am largely cold; you can't warm me for now. I settle, a cool shoulder on your pillow, a small chill wrapped around you. We meld, pretending to sleep until we do, and I wake up, warm. A brush on my cheek, your arms around me, whispers. My legs forgotten beneath the sheet. My arms reaching for something more.
***
Oh yeah... this post is dedicated to Johnny Damon, just 'cuz (and Pedro Martinez for pitching such a great game). And Pujhols... because it's worth a damn laugh, ain't it, Em? Pujhols stink(s)...
Who dat snappin' back? |
***
Iris Avalon. Could there be a more beautiful name? For a more beautiful child not yet born? There are certainly no two people I know who more richly deserve the privilege of bringing another person into this world. I'm going to be an aunt again, and at a time right around November 16th, I will turn into a blubbering fool... oh wait... turn into?
***
My friend, I sense what you're going through and wish it could be me. In lieu of that, I then joke and laugh... I don't really get it, do I? Or... do i? Either way, I can tell you how much I love You. **That'd be a lot, y'know** (Just remember to pick up some juice when we clean out my damn freezer, 'kay?)
***
Something a little more personal: You seek out the empty spaces and disperse your heat. I am largely cold; you can't warm me for now. I settle, a cool shoulder on your pillow, a small chill wrapped around you. We meld, pretending to sleep until we do, and I wake up, warm. A brush on my cheek, your arms around me, whispers. My legs forgotten beneath the sheet. My arms reaching for something more.
***
Oh yeah... this post is dedicated to Johnny Damon, just 'cuz (and Pedro Martinez for pitching such a great game). And Pujhols... because it's worth a damn laugh, ain't it, Em? Pujhols stink(s)...
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Sur-fucking-real.
I am constantly boggled by... PEOPLE. Silly-little-bags-of-water PEOPLE.
First off, here is my disclaimer. PLACES are ok. I like my places. They're my PLACES for various reasons. M'kay? What I DON'T like (at times) are the silly-little-bags-of-water who tend to show up in 'my' PLACES. These are people I consider a blight... yes, a blight... on my otherwise perfect landscape.
Example? Last night I was having a perfectly lovely time. I got to hang with the Viking (completely caught off guard by his presence which -- if truth be told -- tends to fall off the radar now and again and then show up with a giant BLIP). However, I was there to meet my friend Blake and so got the 'doublemint goodness' of spending time with two men for whom I care deeply.
In the midst of my happy bubble however, I had the extreme {JOY} of being confronted by a societal pustule, whom I will refer to as 'the PUSTULE'. Now the terminology here is important... the PUSTULE is honestly (in MY humble opinion) the biggest fucking zit on the ass (OR the biggest fucking ASS on the zit) of humanity. During the PUSTULE's diatribe, of which I wanted no part (and, in no uncertain terms, made quite clear I wanted no part), the PUSTULE actually SAT her fat fucking ass down (yeah, doll... after I asked you to puh-leeeeze go away) next to Blake and yapped away as if she were trying to clear her bowels... which, I think, are located somewhere very close to her conscience. Conscience? Yep... that rattling sound?
The PUSTULE felt the need to rhapsodize. Draaama Traaauma, don'tcha know? Now then. I don't consider myself a rude person. Perhaps someone not willing to participate in sophomoric behavior, but not rude. And if I become so, there is a reason. So I will end this little soliliquy with this: PUSTULE, forgive me (oh please) for being short-tempered with your irrational and unsubstantiated bullshit. If you would be so kind, please stay the fuck away from me in the future, for I find the bubbles of noizzze that spew from your mouth to be toxic. Oh, and you boring fucking bitch, please get laid. Please give some guy with a big frikkin' dick a blow job... not that he'll necessarily enjoy it, but at least it'll shut you up for a tiny bit o' time.
Done... for now.
Who dat snappin' back? |
First off, here is my disclaimer. PLACES are ok. I like my places. They're my PLACES for various reasons. M'kay? What I DON'T like (at times) are the silly-little-bags-of-water who tend to show up in 'my' PLACES. These are people I consider a blight... yes, a blight... on my otherwise perfect landscape.
Example? Last night I was having a perfectly lovely time. I got to hang with the Viking (completely caught off guard by his presence which -- if truth be told -- tends to fall off the radar now and again and then show up with a giant BLIP). However, I was there to meet my friend Blake and so got the 'doublemint goodness' of spending time with two men for whom I care deeply.
In the midst of my happy bubble however, I had the extreme {JOY} of being confronted by a societal pustule, whom I will refer to as 'the PUSTULE'. Now the terminology here is important... the PUSTULE is honestly (in MY humble opinion) the biggest fucking zit on the ass (OR the biggest fucking ASS on the zit) of humanity. During the PUSTULE's diatribe, of which I wanted no part (and, in no uncertain terms, made quite clear I wanted no part), the PUSTULE actually SAT her fat fucking ass down (yeah, doll... after I asked you to puh-leeeeze go away) next to Blake and yapped away as if she were trying to clear her bowels... which, I think, are located somewhere very close to her conscience. Conscience? Yep... that rattling sound?
The PUSTULE felt the need to rhapsodize. Draaama Traaauma, don'tcha know? Now then. I don't consider myself a rude person. Perhaps someone not willing to participate in sophomoric behavior, but not rude. And if I become so, there is a reason. So I will end this little soliliquy with this: PUSTULE, forgive me (oh please) for being short-tempered with your irrational and unsubstantiated bullshit. If you would be so kind, please stay the fuck away from me in the future, for I find the bubbles of noizzze that spew from your mouth to be toxic. Oh, and you boring fucking bitch, please get laid. Please give some guy with a big frikkin' dick a blow job... not that he'll necessarily enjoy it, but at least it'll shut you up for a tiny bit o' time.
Done... for now.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
How do you eat a pomegranate?
Mmmm... that's a good question. So here's all I can say about that teasing fruit: suck. it. up. And then... spit it out. No reason to masticate on this one.
Next edition to "Cooter eats fruit"... pomellos... stay tuned.
Q & A... or at least 'Q':
Do you eat the fuzzy skin of a kiwi? Or are you the anal beeetch that peels? Discuss.
Who dat snappin' back? |
Mmmm... that's a good question. So here's all I can say about that teasing fruit: suck. it. up. And then... spit it out. No reason to masticate on this one.
Next edition to "Cooter eats fruit"... pomellos... stay tuned.
Q & A... or at least 'Q':
Do you eat the fuzzy skin of a kiwi? Or are you the anal beeetch that peels? Discuss.
I got nuthin'
I discovered that while some businesses have casual Friday, there is at least one that has nekkid Tuesday. I'd like to visit that business from time to time, though I can't think of any electric power tools I might need...
***
I do need a date, however. Yes, it is true. A bona fide, take me out to dinner, walk on the street side of the sidewalk, open the car door, woo me without being too much DATE. Jason was telling me Saturday night about a hot number he took out on Friday night and it just made me sigh. They went to a hoity-toity restaurant in Mt. Vernon (the one that was featured in --or on-- Oprah). Unfortunately, he said it was a THREE HOUR wait... and yes, they waited. Hell, take me Sutliff and buy me a pizzaburger and some suds, I'd be a happy gal. Just make sure you open doors for me. I'm a sucker for manners...
***
On Sunday Miz Meems came over for an afternoon church service. I was sadly under the weather from the previous evening's shenanigans, but a hair of the dog it turns out, was exactly what I needed. Not to mention hangin' out and having my perspective shifted, which is a gift Mimi brings to church. Por ejemplo: I was looking out the window at the parking lot across Market Street. What I saw was a row of yellowing, spindly trees planted in a concrete furrow, and wet pavement keeping water from the tender roots. Mimi didn't. She saw color and planes and textures... I usually keep my blinds pulled so as to not be confronted with the harshness of the outside world, but I'm slowly coming around to the beauty of another perspective. Thanks for that one, Mouthy.
***
Hmm. Done for now. Thanks for playin'.
Who dat snappin' back? |
***
I do need a date, however. Yes, it is true. A bona fide, take me out to dinner, walk on the street side of the sidewalk, open the car door, woo me without being too much DATE. Jason was telling me Saturday night about a hot number he took out on Friday night and it just made me sigh. They went to a hoity-toity restaurant in Mt. Vernon (the one that was featured in --or on-- Oprah). Unfortunately, he said it was a THREE HOUR wait... and yes, they waited. Hell, take me Sutliff and buy me a pizzaburger and some suds, I'd be a happy gal. Just make sure you open doors for me. I'm a sucker for manners...
***
On Sunday Miz Meems came over for an afternoon church service. I was sadly under the weather from the previous evening's shenanigans, but a hair of the dog it turns out, was exactly what I needed. Not to mention hangin' out and having my perspective shifted, which is a gift Mimi brings to church. Por ejemplo: I was looking out the window at the parking lot across Market Street. What I saw was a row of yellowing, spindly trees planted in a concrete furrow, and wet pavement keeping water from the tender roots. Mimi didn't. She saw color and planes and textures... I usually keep my blinds pulled so as to not be confronted with the harshness of the outside world, but I'm slowly coming around to the beauty of another perspective. Thanks for that one, Mouthy.
***
Hmm. Done for now. Thanks for playin'.
Monday, October 18, 2004
Rules to Blogging: Cooter's L'il List
1. Do not write a new post when hungover. Words like 'infinity' and 'affinity' are too close together in your jumbled, dehydrated mind to tell the difference, and the switching of these words does not work. Really. I've tried it. Trust me... does not work.
2. Try not to post comments on other people's blogs while playing the role of persona intoxicata. This works for some people, however, I just get stupid... or offensive. (Rob is still ignoring me).
3. Do not be mean to another person. Well, unless they're being a total asshat; then it's ok to pull their shit to the curb. (But be nice about it... like Mouthy).
4. Don't expect other people to enjoy your mindless banter as much as you do. This goes for real life conversations, as well. Don't we all know people who really just like the sound of their own voice? Makes me twitch just to think about it... Why, oh why, must they inflict the torture of insipid, pointless bullshit upon the tender ears of thinkin' people? However, since this is written, no one is forcing you to read it. So feck off if you don't like it.
5. Never offer to link Todd Vodka. Just do it.
Who dat snappin' back? |
2. Try not to post comments on other people's blogs while playing the role of persona intoxicata. This works for some people, however, I just get stupid... or offensive. (Rob is still ignoring me).
3. Do not be mean to another person. Well, unless they're being a total asshat; then it's ok to pull their shit to the curb. (But be nice about it... like Mouthy).
4. Don't expect other people to enjoy your mindless banter as much as you do. This goes for real life conversations, as well. Don't we all know people who really just like the sound of their own voice? Makes me twitch just to think about it... Why, oh why, must they inflict the torture of insipid, pointless bullshit upon the tender ears of thinkin' people? However, since this is written, no one is forcing you to read it. So feck off if you don't like it.
5. Never offer to link Todd Vodka. Just do it.
Saturday, October 16, 2004
The beauty of a few and the pathos of the weak...
Problem stated at its most succinct - is life too short to be taking shit or is life too short to mind it?
~Violet Weingarten
I love my life. Really, I do. My friends (the real ones, not the two-faced mindless acquaintances that will greet you with a smile and then plunge a knife in your back) are amazing. Amy, Roger, Mimi, Scott, Todd, Mark, Marco... I would do absolutely anything for any one of these people, and they for me. There are others with whom I have a great affinity, but this post would get too long and boring, so I had to stop at lucky seven...
Amy is my best friend ever. I know that sounds somewhat sophomoric, but it's true. I love this woman like she's my own sister. She's a big part of who I am today and there aren't the words to convey just how very much she means to me. The only thing I regret is that we don't live closer to each other. I miss you, Keech.
Roger is my knight in shining armor. He will stand up for me, even if it's not the most 'popular' stance to take. And I love him for telling the Twitch to never touch me again... under any circumstances. Unfortunately, between grad school and his hacking job, I don't see him nearly enough (and my feet are in desperate need of his magic touch). I will do shots of pure evil with him even when it's against my better judgment.
Mimi is one of the strongest women I know (we call the big one Mouthy). She doesn't bow to the opinions of others and is always more than happy to oblige when someone needs their shit pulled to the curb... and she's provided this service for me on a few occasions. She can tell anyone when they're misbehaving and they will graciously thank her. I wish I had her strength, warmth and conviction (not to mention those incredible southern manners!). She is also the only one who can get me to attend 'church services' and write songs about Jesus.
Pooter. Heh heh. His clarity of thought never seems clouded by uncertainty or emotion. His super power lies in his ability to make the thunderheads go away. He takes care of things and is one of the most giving people I know. He has also, singlehandedly, reawakened my interest in music and the desire to go back to school. He's going through a big 'pee' phase now that I don't fully comprehend, but that's ok. He's Pooter.
Todd aka Skippy is the enigmatic one. Always on the lookout for the evil Big Brother. He's cautious and hopeful. And there's this side to him that seeks beauty whereever it lies. Right now, I'm guessing it's in his gardens waiting to awaken in the spring. He's the one that can, just by poking me in the shoulder, turn my day around. He's a true gentleman.
Mark makes me pause. He's perhaps the most patient man I have ever met. He thinks things out at his own pace, and when he says something, you know he means it. As someone who doesn't always think before she opens her mouth, I admire this quality. He also possesses an enormously large heart; I can't tell him enough that I love him. He just brings out love.
Marco. My innuendo-slinging hamster-minded freak. It's amazing that I can have so much in common with a man. Like Mark, he also thinks very carefully before he speaks... mostly. And even though he's in Baton Rouge, there are days that I can still feel his presence HERE. And it's damn comforting.
All of these people mean something very special to me, whether we've known each other for six years or for twenty. They will always be my friends, and for that, I am the luckiest woman in the world.
I was going to write a few words regarding those who don't understand the meaning of friendship, but I guess for right now, LIFE IS TOO SHORT TO MIND (BULLSHIT).
Have a great Saturday, my friends.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Comfort post.
Fall weather makes me happy. Content. It's no longer a time to 'show off' my pale, bruise-addled gams (courtesy of the ever-excitable and lovable poog who still has not learned that jumping on the Mastress is a baaad thing). Instead, it's leather weather. Sweater weather. Protective jeans weather. **sigh**
It's also the time of year when I want to delve into a very thick, delicious book (or several books at once). I've just started reading Hard Laughter by Anne Lamott, lent to me by the Viking. I am also beginning The Bone People by Keri Hulme, lent to me by Blake. On top of these two books, the Roundtable is about to choose the next book for our discussion, not to mention those issues of The New Yorker that just keep a-comin'. Such joy!
This is also the time of year when my kitchen becomes the center of my household. I want to cook up big pots of steaming stews, bake comfort food casseroles, roast chickens... you name it. I just want to cook again. And this year, come hell or high water, I'm going to teach myself how to make bread.
And, since I have just scads of free time, I'm thinking about taking a knitting class. Oh yes, peeps, I'm turning into some strange version of Martha Stewart meets Henrietta Hermit.
Who dat snappin' back? |
It's also the time of year when I want to delve into a very thick, delicious book (or several books at once). I've just started reading Hard Laughter by Anne Lamott, lent to me by the Viking. I am also beginning The Bone People by Keri Hulme, lent to me by Blake. On top of these two books, the Roundtable is about to choose the next book for our discussion, not to mention those issues of The New Yorker that just keep a-comin'. Such joy!
This is also the time of year when my kitchen becomes the center of my household. I want to cook up big pots of steaming stews, bake comfort food casseroles, roast chickens... you name it. I just want to cook again. And this year, come hell or high water, I'm going to teach myself how to make bread.
And, since I have just scads of free time, I'm thinking about taking a knitting class. Oh yes, peeps, I'm turning into some strange version of Martha Stewart meets Henrietta Hermit.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
The Attendant
Loose snow worries the husks.
The doughnuts have been delivered
at the gas station.
What was she thinking before?
Was she tired of sweeping?
Inside there at this hour,
almost everywhere the windows
are mirrors. The displays
look so neat, look limited.
She has arranged the few aisles,
though some can only be seen
from certain positions.
They are almost private.
She feels looked at often.
She sees herself;
solitude magnifies her prettiness.
She imagines herself sometimes,
stocking the cooler from behind,
to be not really visible.
A customer reaching in
for a brand would see a slice
of hair, of chest or waist.
She is body parts then, more than body.
She likes her body. She regrets
her eyes on her face. So much
better to have a snail shape.
Their eyes on stalks can see each other.
She likes to imagine between them
the possibility of a sneaky friendship.
by Marc Rahe
Who dat snappin' back? |
Loose snow worries the husks.
The doughnuts have been delivered
at the gas station.
What was she thinking before?
Was she tired of sweeping?
Inside there at this hour,
almost everywhere the windows
are mirrors. The displays
look so neat, look limited.
She has arranged the few aisles,
though some can only be seen
from certain positions.
They are almost private.
She feels looked at often.
She sees herself;
solitude magnifies her prettiness.
She imagines herself sometimes,
stocking the cooler from behind,
to be not really visible.
A customer reaching in
for a brand would see a slice
of hair, of chest or waist.
She is body parts then, more than body.
She likes her body. She regrets
her eyes on her face. So much
better to have a snail shape.
Their eyes on stalks can see each other.
She likes to imagine between them
the possibility of a sneaky friendship.
by Marc Rahe
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Different zones.
My friend Rick told me this story the other day. I want to share it with you.
A mutual acquaintance of ours, Mark Gauger, owns a toy store here in Iowa City called the Fun Zone. Mark is a large man with an infectious laugh and a killer wit. When you speak with him, you don't feel like you're conversing with a 40-something year old man; he makes everyone feel young, in touch with their 'inner child', joyous. But he's got a serious side, too, that is as much endearing as his child-like love of pranks and wind-up toys.
In one of his window displays, he adds a little green plastic soldier for each American life lost in in our 'war against terror'. One day, a 6-year-old boy went up to Mark in the store and tugged on his sleeve. Mark asked him what he could help him with. The child pointed to the window display and asked him, "Mister, what happens when you run out of room?"
What do you say? I'm not even sure if Rick told me whether or not Mark responded to that; I was too busy forcefully expelling all the air from my lungs.
Who dat snappin' back? |
A mutual acquaintance of ours, Mark Gauger, owns a toy store here in Iowa City called the Fun Zone. Mark is a large man with an infectious laugh and a killer wit. When you speak with him, you don't feel like you're conversing with a 40-something year old man; he makes everyone feel young, in touch with their 'inner child', joyous. But he's got a serious side, too, that is as much endearing as his child-like love of pranks and wind-up toys.
In one of his window displays, he adds a little green plastic soldier for each American life lost in in our 'war against terror'. One day, a 6-year-old boy went up to Mark in the store and tugged on his sleeve. Mark asked him what he could help him with. The child pointed to the window display and asked him, "Mister, what happens when you run out of room?"
What do you say? I'm not even sure if Rick told me whether or not Mark responded to that; I was too busy forcefully expelling all the air from my lungs.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Geek bitch that I am.
**sitting here laughing silently to myself**
Ok, I consider myself a strong woman. Really, I do. I've been through a hell of a lot of physical bullshit that your average American public hasn't had to endure. And I consider myself lucky to have been spared other types of pain that exist in this world. Either way, it doesn't really matter. No one's pain is more or less significant than anyone else's. But suffice it to say, MY past has taught me many lessons... one of which is DON'T LET 'THEM' SEE YOU SWEAT IT.
There are times I wonder how others see me. Do they consider me an unfeeling cold-hearted bitch? A moron? Lordy knows, I've been called every name in the book and then some. Well, then, how is it that I'm such a big gooey ball o' mush? Know why I was laughing to myself? It's because:
I was CRYING at the end of 'Revenge of the Nerds'!! You know the part when Gilbert gets up to make the big speech about being like everyone else? And Louis joins in? Then Betty, the cheerleader, and Gilbert's girlfriend, the Omega Mu? Ball o' mush, I'm tellin' ya.
Who dat snappin' back? |
Ok, I consider myself a strong woman. Really, I do. I've been through a hell of a lot of physical bullshit that your average American public hasn't had to endure. And I consider myself lucky to have been spared other types of pain that exist in this world. Either way, it doesn't really matter. No one's pain is more or less significant than anyone else's. But suffice it to say, MY past has taught me many lessons... one of which is DON'T LET 'THEM' SEE YOU SWEAT IT.
There are times I wonder how others see me. Do they consider me an unfeeling cold-hearted bitch? A moron? Lordy knows, I've been called every name in the book and then some. Well, then, how is it that I'm such a big gooey ball o' mush? Know why I was laughing to myself? It's because:
I was CRYING at the end of 'Revenge of the Nerds'!! You know the part when Gilbert gets up to make the big speech about being like everyone else? And Louis joins in? Then Betty, the cheerleader, and Gilbert's girlfriend, the Omega Mu? Ball o' mush, I'm tellin' ya.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Aw, fer fuck's sake...
just a little ranting shall ensue...
During my daily slog of the Monday through Friday persuasion, I would like it JUST ONCE (no, really ALL the fucking TIME) if John (the Bitchmaster of the Appreciation Factory) would put a new roll of toilet paper on the little toilet paper thingy when he uses the last square (AND turn the damn fan on so's I don't go gettin' all gassed out and sech). Same goes for the paper towels. I realize I'm his 'ho for forty hours a week, but I AIN'T his fuckin' maid. Beatdown with cardboard tubes. (And no, I don't replace them... stubborn bitch that I am).
I have been told *exactly once* in my life the following: "I feel sorry for you." Ok. Hmmm.... How does one respond to that? I simply turned on my heel, walked away, and took a long-ass piss in the restroom. Now, the problem I have with this is that it's someone I still deal with and/or have to see EVERY frikkin' day of my life (and the fact that I can't honestly glom onto WHY anyone would pity ME). I want to spit on him. (And no, peepages, it's not the Twitch... I think even he would not be so stooopid... oh wait. Yes, he would. But he's still not the idiot who said it.) Any which way, it makes me angry to think a person would be cruel enough to say that to another. Shit. That's just cold. And sharp. Very sharp.
I have AMC on right now, and John Edwards did a little intro to "Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb". Um... whu???? I'm already voting your ticket, but this was just plain laughable. I'm strangely disturbed to the point where I'm just strangely disturbed. Vader? Any comments on this from the Kubrick Queen? I think this is the point in the evening where I take an Ambien and go to bed.
Bouncer Rob. Anyone heard from him? I'm a taaaad worried about that fever and all (wouldn't want another 'Kevoudini'). Rob, you better be feeling a hell of a lot better and be at work right now. Otherwise, I'll fly out to NYC for the simple joy of force-feeding you enough vitamin C that you piss in an arc that hits your ceiling while lying in your soon-to-be golden-showered bed. Got it? Now post already.
I'm still half worried about this Pod Person that Celti wrote about.
***ah pooo*** There's so much shit going on right now that I can't write about. I have several friends going through really horrid shit and I can't freakin' talk about it with anyone. I feel so wretched that... well... I can't DO anything to make it better for a single one of them! And I feel fucking guilty because, for the first time in a long time, I'm actually feeling GOOD about my life. How fair is this? I'd rather my life be its normal state of shit and everyone else be happy. Just call me Jobette.
Ah well...
Is there anyone out there that actually reads this drivel and has their own blog? If so, and you have me linked, please let me know if I have not reciprocated and I'll add you. I'm an equal opportunity opportunist.
Good night, all. OH! I got pics back today from the wedding. I WILL scan some in and post 'em. Been awhile since I've posted pics... someone please remind me how to do it, okay?
Who dat snappin' back? |
During my daily slog of the Monday through Friday persuasion, I would like it JUST ONCE (no, really ALL the fucking TIME) if John (the Bitchmaster of the Appreciation Factory) would put a new roll of toilet paper on the little toilet paper thingy when he uses the last square (AND turn the damn fan on so's I don't go gettin' all gassed out and sech). Same goes for the paper towels. I realize I'm his 'ho for forty hours a week, but I AIN'T his fuckin' maid. Beatdown with cardboard tubes. (And no, I don't replace them... stubborn bitch that I am).
I have been told *exactly once* in my life the following: "I feel sorry for you." Ok. Hmmm.... How does one respond to that? I simply turned on my heel, walked away, and took a long-ass piss in the restroom. Now, the problem I have with this is that it's someone I still deal with and/or have to see EVERY frikkin' day of my life (and the fact that I can't honestly glom onto WHY anyone would pity ME). I want to spit on him. (And no, peepages, it's not the Twitch... I think even he would not be so stooopid... oh wait. Yes, he would. But he's still not the idiot who said it.) Any which way, it makes me angry to think a person would be cruel enough to say that to another. Shit. That's just cold. And sharp. Very sharp.
I have AMC on right now, and John Edwards did a little intro to "Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb". Um... whu???? I'm already voting your ticket, but this was just plain laughable. I'm strangely disturbed to the point where I'm just strangely disturbed. Vader? Any comments on this from the Kubrick Queen? I think this is the point in the evening where I take an Ambien and go to bed.
Bouncer Rob. Anyone heard from him? I'm a taaaad worried about that fever and all (wouldn't want another 'Kevoudini'). Rob, you better be feeling a hell of a lot better and be at work right now. Otherwise, I'll fly out to NYC for the simple joy of force-feeding you enough vitamin C that you piss in an arc that hits your ceiling while lying in your soon-to-be golden-showered bed. Got it? Now post already.
I'm still half worried about this Pod Person that Celti wrote about.
***ah pooo*** There's so much shit going on right now that I can't write about. I have several friends going through really horrid shit and I can't freakin' talk about it with anyone. I feel so wretched that... well... I can't DO anything to make it better for a single one of them! And I feel fucking guilty because, for the first time in a long time, I'm actually feeling GOOD about my life. How fair is this? I'd rather my life be its normal state of shit and everyone else be happy. Just call me Jobette.
Ah well...
Is there anyone out there that actually reads this drivel and has their own blog? If so, and you have me linked, please let me know if I have not reciprocated and I'll add you. I'm an equal opportunity opportunist.
Good night, all. OH! I got pics back today from the wedding. I WILL scan some in and post 'em. Been awhile since I've posted pics... someone please remind me how to do it, okay?
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
The lovely and talented Miss Richfield 1981
I was going to write a lengthy post about the oh-so phenomenal wedding I attended in Minneapolis just this last weekend, but I realized that just because I had an absolutely fabulhoft time, the details might be enough to bore the tail off a lemur. Besides, most of you don't know the people of whom I would speak, so it would really make no never mind. However, I must say, Nick and Kristen's wedding was, by faaaaar, the BEST frikkin' wedding/reception I've ever been to in my life.
Fast forward from a gorgeous ceremony in the sculpture garden of the Walker Art Center to a little club called Jitters. Pooter, Mark, Victor and myself descended into the bowels of the Times building to be greeted with "you're just in time here have some champagne" by one of the waiters. Now, I may (or may not) get back to the prior night's events, but let's just say poor little Cooter was still hungover... at 7 p.m. Not being a big fan of champagne in the first place, my initial instinct was to run to the restroom and hurl. This, I did not do.
Stoically, I made it into the adjoining club room, greeting and hugging people along the way (and grabbing a few asses while I was at it). Not knowing what to expect, I simply plopped my derriere down at the closest table to my best friend in the whole wide world, Amos de la Keechy Keecherton... and her stomach that was (and still is until mid-November) incubating my niece, Iris Avalon. Everyone is laughing, talking, hugging... the energy in this club was markedly different than any other bar atmosphere to which I'd previously been privy. (Don't you just love my fanatical grammatical detailing?) So screw it... now I babble...
Anyhoo, between the crabcakes, stuffed cherry tomatoes, bruschetta, and other such platters of noshings being heralded about by the club staff, this rather large woman takes charge of the stage (see the link provided above to get a peek of Her Presence). All I can say is: I can't remember laughing so hard at a comedy act before... and I think Amos felt the same way because for awhile I thought her water was going to break from all the gut-wrenching guffawing. Once I get pictures developed (though who knows what the hell'll be on 'em since my disposable camera was at the mercy of Simon's new girlfriend -- a story in its own that I won't go into other than when I asked her for ibuprofen, she tried to give me a Vioxx (!!) which I turned down and then PRAYED to Allah that the two pills she found at the bottom of her purse were indeed Ibuprofen... sorry for the run-on sentence... fuck grammar) I will be sure to post a few.
Um... now endeth part one. 'Cuz I have to go to bed now.
Who dat snappin' back? |
Fast forward from a gorgeous ceremony in the sculpture garden of the Walker Art Center to a little club called Jitters. Pooter, Mark, Victor and myself descended into the bowels of the Times building to be greeted with "you're just in time here have some champagne" by one of the waiters. Now, I may (or may not) get back to the prior night's events, but let's just say poor little Cooter was still hungover... at 7 p.m. Not being a big fan of champagne in the first place, my initial instinct was to run to the restroom and hurl. This, I did not do.
Stoically, I made it into the adjoining club room, greeting and hugging people along the way (and grabbing a few asses while I was at it). Not knowing what to expect, I simply plopped my derriere down at the closest table to my best friend in the whole wide world, Amos de la Keechy Keecherton... and her stomach that was (and still is until mid-November) incubating my niece, Iris Avalon. Everyone is laughing, talking, hugging... the energy in this club was markedly different than any other bar atmosphere to which I'd previously been privy. (Don't you just love my fanatical grammatical detailing?) So screw it... now I babble...
Anyhoo, between the crabcakes, stuffed cherry tomatoes, bruschetta, and other such platters of noshings being heralded about by the club staff, this rather large woman takes charge of the stage (see the link provided above to get a peek of Her Presence). All I can say is: I can't remember laughing so hard at a comedy act before... and I think Amos felt the same way because for awhile I thought her water was going to break from all the gut-wrenching guffawing. Once I get pictures developed (though who knows what the hell'll be on 'em since my disposable camera was at the mercy of Simon's new girlfriend -- a story in its own that I won't go into other than when I asked her for ibuprofen, she tried to give me a Vioxx (!!) which I turned down and then PRAYED to Allah that the two pills she found at the bottom of her purse were indeed Ibuprofen... sorry for the run-on sentence... fuck grammar) I will be sure to post a few.
Um... now endeth part one. 'Cuz I have to go to bed now.
Drag Queens and Polka Bands
I'm working on a post... really, I am. Trust me. I mean it. So get over it... there's one on the way. Seriously.
Who dat snappin' back? |
